


viva las vegas

by mvrcredi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of) identity porn, Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrcredi/pseuds/mvrcredi
Summary: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas... right?





	viva las vegas

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song [Last Name](https://youtu.be/f27zNlmRMWU) by Carrie Underwood. Enjoy!
> 
> (The [lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/carrieunderwood/lastname.html) if you don't want to listen.)

There was a wicked pounding in Tony’s head that trailed his groggy awakening. The morning light dusting through the thin, white curtains seemed much too bright, and put a strain on Tony’s hungover, sluggish gaze. He felt like shit, and probably looked it too. However, his hangover soon turned out to be the least of his worries.

After gathering some of his bearings, Tony notices the strong, most definitely male arms snaked around his waist. There’s a warm presence against his back, and the sound of faint snoring.

Now, this wasn’t the worst of it. Tony had had plenty of one-night stands in his past, and he was sure this one was no different—except for the very, _very_ official-looking wedding band on his ring finger that one-hundred percent hadn’t been there yesterday. And the matching _replica_ on his company’s own hand. Tony began to panic.

He’d done incredibly stupid things in the past, but this was sure to draw the line. He sees his phone light up with a notification informing him of a sixth missed call from Pepper. Tony wasn’t quite sure he wanted to call her back.

Whoever’s behind him stirs in the slightest, and Tony decides he has to get out of here, and _fast._ He was not dealing with this. Not right now.

He detangles himself from the man’s arms and slips out of the bed. He doesn’t give the time of day to check the appearance of the man, as he’s scrambling to gather his belongings (most of which are near or draped over the room’s dingy desk chair), and wobbling around like a newborn giraffe trying to get his clothes on. Speed, silence, and an absolute need to _get! out!_ did not make for a good combination.

When he goes back to finally grab his phone is finally when he gets a (rather spectacular) look of who he’d been sharing a bed with. Even drunk off his rockers, Tony still had great taste, if he said so himself.

Tony found himself staring, distracted from his task at hand. The man was devilishly handsome, with long eyelashes that cast a shadow on his cheekbones in the morning sun, hyper-kissable lips, and what looked to be silky soft hair that Tony wouldn’t mind running his fingers through all day long.

The man also looked _so peaceful_ lying there. Oh yeah, Tony absolutely had to leave before he woke up.

He snags his phone off the bedside table, and rushes out of the room. He’s careful to slowly close the door. He hits Pepper’s number on his screen as he starts his way down the hall. She picks up on the third ring.

_“What the hell, Tony?”_ She immediately hisses. _“What were you_ thinking?!”

“To be fair, I was _extremely_ drunk, which would have therefore hindered any decisions I was making last—“

_“You were wed by an Elvis impersonator, Tony! Whatever state of intoxicated you were doesn’t excuse getting married in Vegas!”_ Pepper continues to yell. Tony’s major headache wasn’t taking this well. He winces at her raised voice.

“Yes, well—“

_“Well nothing! Oh God, I’m going to have to deal with so much paperwork because of you and your poor decisions. Tell me you at least talked to him?”_ Pepper asks, though it sounds more like pleading with a tinge of false hope.

“Um... no?”

Pepper continues to scold him long past the phone call.

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes up completely, utterly, overwhelmingly confused.

For starters, this most definitely wasn’t his bed (well, to be fair, he _was_ on vacation, so that was understandable), and he most definitely hadn’t been alone at some point. Not to mention, he most certainly couldn’t forget the awful feeling in his head. Steve couldn’t recall ever drinking so much he blacked out before.

He sits up cautiously, taking note of the room. It was just a run-of-the-mill hotel room—mounted TV on the wall, a petite desk barely fitting the corner. Translucent curtains flowing lightly from the AC just a foot below put a barrier between raw sunlight and the room. There was nothing out of the ordinary, as far as Steve could tell, other than the fact that this was _not_ the room he was paying for.

Except then, he noticed, his clothes were strewn about. Oh, and there was a ring on his left hand, now that he found himself subconsciously twisting it around. _What the hell?_ That couldn’t mean anything remotely positive.

Steve tosses the covers aside with haste, going about getting his things before locking himself in the washroom. He figured whoever was there with him was long gone, and he took that as an opportunity to take a quick, cold shower, before leaving and forgetting anything ever happened. He wasn’t sure what to do with the ring and what was tied into it, exactly, but he supposed he would figure something out along the way. Maybe he’d trash it. Maybe he’d sell it. He wasn’t sure yet.

He was in and out of the shower in record time, drying off with the closest towel he could find whilst desperately wishing he had a toothbrush, and silently chastising himself about needed a shave. Steve followed suit by dressing himself with last night’s discarded clothes.

The only things left for Steve to grab were his phone and wallet, both of which he left on the bed for an excuse to once-over the room to make sure he didn’t leave anything else behind. If he remembered correctly, the only thing he had brought along with him last night were those two things—the rest of his stuff tucked away in his _actual, payed-for-by-himself_ hotel room.

Steve was gladly on his way in no time, as to not leave enough room to fret over who was even paying for the suite. His phone was in his hand as he was out the door, already dialing a cab company.

 

[ + ]

 

Only a second after knocking on his room’s door, Bucky swings it open. His eyes are narrowed, suspicious. He peeks out into the hall, checking both ways, before hauling Steve inside.

The door shuts with a _click!_ as Bucky wordlessly points to the bed Steve _should have_ woken up in.

Steve sits, but before he can get a word in, Bucky starts talking. “You wanna explain to me exactly what happened last night?”

Steve cringes, trying to think back to the previous night’s events. He looks sheepish when he answers with, “You know, I’m not quite sure myself.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Tell that to the ring you’re spinning around your finger. Here, look,” Bucky says, taking the TV remote and pressing on. What comes up is a celebrity gossip news station.

The current headline reads, **_Tony Stark tying the knot?_**

And just above it is a poorly shot photo of the famed billionaire, as well as... himself. Right opposite him. Steve goes red.

“I think the only good thing you’re probably going to get out of this is a large sum of money to keep quiet,” Bucky turns back to face Steve after listening to a minute more of the program. He crosses his arms, as if he expects Steve to now have a solution, as well as a crisp, clear idea in his head as to how he got to the point of marrying _Tony Stark_. However, much to Steve’s dismay, the whole night was still hazy.

“Look, Bucky, I don’t know how it happened—“

“Clearly!” Bucky exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I honestly can’t believe you. If it were Clint, then yeah I could see this happening. But _you?!_ I’m disappointed, Steve, I really am.”

“It’s not like I can do much about it now, Buck!” Steve argues.

Bucky’s concerned, pensive. “Well, come to think of it... there didn’t happen to be a certificate or anything, did there? For all anyone knows, it couldn’t be real, right?”

Steve scrunches up his nose in thought. “I don’t recall any papers.”

“Perfect! So we leave tomorrow like we’re supposed to, and never think or talk about it again!” Bucky concludes.

Steve sighs, “Sure.” It wasn’t the best way to go about the situation, but hey, it was _a_ solution.

 

* * *

 

 “I thought you didn’t approve of this sort of thing.”

“I don’t, but you need to sort things out yourself. This is a very much _you_ problem, not the company’s,” Pepper hums.

“Ugh,” Tony groans, “why?”

“I’m not sure, Tony. Why don’t you ask yourself that,” Pepper raises an expectant eyebrow to add to her unimpressed expression.

Tony huffs. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Pepper says, satisfied. “I’ll go now. I expect you to have figured something out by tomorrow. You had your week.”

She turns on her heel, and heads towards the exit of the workshop. Tony drops his head in his hands. Blue holograms and schematics hang over his head. This was the first time he was opposed to any kind of stalking. Wow, that sounded incredibly bad.

Whoever he was in (not-so) holy matrimony with probably didn’t appreciate the limelight if Tony were to go by a lack of response or claim or anything Tony would have expected from someone hungry for the spotlight. He was kind of thankful for this.

Although that being said, it also made it tons more difficult to find exactly whoever he had gotten married to. The only photo online was rather blurry, and near useless even for Tony’s technology.

Minutes searching became hours, and the only thing he managed to find was a rather generic name, that being Steve Rogers. And there were quite a lot of those. Tony did eventually about halve the number after eliminating every one of them that wasn’t blond. He just wished he remembered the man’s—Steve’s—face a lot clearer. The hangover had done nothing to help him retain details. It wasn’t much help that Tony had no clue whether the man was even American. He could be from the other side of the Atlantic for all Tony knew.

Tony was almost too engrossed in his search to notice the glass door to his workshop had slid open for the first time in a while. Without lifting his gaze, he just assumes it’s Pepper checking up on him, or something along those lines. It was often he found himself absorbed in work for much too long—forgetting to eat and shower as a result.

“Despite what you may believe, I did actually have breakfast this morning, so your efforts to make me eat something are fruitless,” Tony says, without fully diverting his attention.

Pepper (as it turns out, Tony was unsurprisingly correct) clears her throat. “Did you get my message?”

Tony pauses. He doesn’t remember receiving any message of any kind. “No, I didn’t. Why? What was it—oh.”

Awkwardly standing right next to Pepper was the man, presumably Steve Rogers, he had woken up next to a week ago in Las Vegas. He was anxiously toying at the wedding ring on his hand. Tony very, _very_ hastily dismisses his display.

After a few agonising seconds of silence, Pepper claps her hands. “Alright, well I’ll leave you boys to it,” she says, before walking to the door once more.

The blond— _Steve, Tony, his name is Steve—_ hangs his head with a weak chuckle. “I swear I haven’t been wearing this around. I only brought it as proof, I guess. The name Steve Rogers has no significance to your company, so calling wasn’t, uh, wasn’t exactly in the picture.”

Tony was at a loss for words for absolutely no reason. His mouth felt dry.

“That’s... ok. Pepper and, well, no just me— _I_ was looking for _you_ , actually, so I mean. If you want to make, um. Amends or whatever? Talk it over?” Tony keeps rambling, “I don’t know how to respond to this. I’ve never been so drunk I got married. So. This is new. But, um, if you just want money or something, tell me. I don’t want to make a big deal, of course, because both of us are kind of _in this together?_ I don’t know, please say something I feel like I’m talking too much—“

“No, no. It’s fine,” Steve laughs, now looking directly at Tony with those baby blues Tony hadn’t gotten the chance to be able to see when he left that hotel room. “I suppose we should figure something out about legality and all that, but I don’t need compensation otherwise, as much as Bucky would oppose to me saying that. I wasn’t really planning on doing anything about this in the first place, but I figured it coulda been an issue in the future.”

Tony blinks. “Bucky? Who’s Bucky? Don’t tell me I—“

“Hm? Oh. Oh! No, don’t worry about anything. He’s just a friend,” Steve clarifies, going back to studying his shoes. “I’m unattached, if that helps anything.”

“It does, yeah,” Tony nods. The quiet is excruciatingly uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure why he was having so much difficulty with this, he was normally suave, cool. Charming. Not... whatever this was.

Before Tony knew what was happening, Steve was a few steps closer with his hand outstretched. “Why don’t we start with formal introductions? I mean, I know we’re supposedly married and had sex, but. You know. I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”

Tony hesitantly takes his grasp. “Tony. And _wow_ I still can’t believe that actually happened. I mean, score nonetheless, but still.”

Ah, there was that bluntness. Steve blushes profusely—the tips of his ears and his cheeks staining pink. Tony finds it endearing. And, _woah, where did_ that _come from?_

“I guess we ought to get to know each other a little too. Maybe. Um,” Steve coughs. He looks around, spotting a nearby stool. He grabs it, and brings it back to where he had been standing. He sits, slouched, hands clasped together. Steve offers a shy, gauche smile.

 

[ + ]

 

They talk until it gets dark, very off course as to why Steve had come to the establishment in the first place. Tony learns Steve is ex-military, now working as a comic book artist (Tony was surprised by this, because Steve certainly doesn’t look the type) in Brooklyn, where he has lived all his life. Also, his birthday is the fourth of July and his friends always give him shit for it, for many reasons apparently. His favourite colour is blue, and he’s more of a dog-person because... well, Tony forgot. There were more facts in and between conversations, but Tony really couldn’t keep up. He was never good at this sort of one-on-one thing.

They do touch and return on the topic of divorce, but as it turns out after researching a bit, filing for one is much more complicated than it had originally seemed. By this time, though, they’re both much less opposed to undoing their drunken union.

“You know, I think we could make this work,” Steve confesses quietly, suddenly. He averts his gaze downwards, blushing madly as he had been for most of their conversations. “Unless you don’t want to. I’d understand. I just... you’re pretty swell. Yeah.”

Tony damn near blushes himself, which is pretty uncharacteristic for him, when Steve says this. It was funny how little time it took two grown men to become more than simply interested in one another. Maybe not in love, not yet, but there was definitely a spark there.

“Tony?” Steve says, snapping the aforementioned out of his thoughts. The word is soft, sad. “You’ve been silent a while. I assume I should just go, then.”

Tony’s eyes widen when he says this.  “What? No! No, wait. I was only thinking. I’m... I’m sure we could make this work. We could. We will.”

At this, Steve beams, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Great. That’s... great,” he breathes out.

Tony bites his lip, unable to help the wide grin forming on his own mouth. “I look forward to trying this out.”

There’s a brief pause.

“But I’m just wondering... who took who’s name?”

**Author's Note:**

> All comments, criticism and kudos are very much appreciated!! <3


End file.
